


Hi, Andrew

by justwhatialwayswanted



Series: Apartment 314 [11]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Oops, Renee and Jeremy are in it but only on the phone, andrew's a gay disaster what can i say, excessive use of the fuck word but only in the swearing sense, probably doesn't help that all of his friends are mocking him relentlessly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwhatialwayswanted/pseuds/justwhatialwayswanted
Summary: When Neil asks Andrew to feed Sir and King while he's off visiting his uncle, it's a problem. Mainly because he can't refuse for two reasons:Cats. Andrew's weakness.And Neil Josten. Andrew's other weakness.He's so fucked.
Relationships: Andrew Minyard & Jean Moreau, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Apartment 314 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785295
Comments: 25
Kudos: 221





	Hi, Andrew

When Andrew opens the door, he is greeted with the sight of Neil.

Now, this wouldn't be  _ that _ unusual, but the unusual part is that there is no sign of the 'I-was-expecting-Jean' downward eye flick. Neil gazes right at him, a hesitant half-smile on his face, and Andrew allows it for about two seconds before saying, "What?"

The smile blooms into a flourishing smirk. As usual. "Charming."

Andrew just stares at him and does not permit himself to feel even the tiniest bit flustered. "I believe I asked a question."

"Well, hi to you too," Neil says, unperturbed. He's got his hands casually stuck in the pockets of his criminally loose jeans. Not that it's a problem that Neil's wearing loose jeans. It's not like Andrew wants him to wear tight ones. But those things are a fashion abomination and Andrew would be lying if he said he didn't want to burn them a little bit. For fuck's sake, the hems are frayed because they're too long and trail on the ground. Josten is a disaster. "How are you with cats?"

This feels like a trap but Andrew has no idea how it could be one. Still, he's suspicious when he says, "Decent." 

(Which is less a lie than it is an understatement. He's excellent with cats. They recognize him as one of their own. And he's spent more time than he wants to admit Googling things like 'cat body language meanings.')

"Great." Neil even seems to mean it. Bastard. "Can I ask a favor?"

Andrew raises an eyebrow, which is absolutely not something he's practiced doing in front of a mirror. "You may, but no guarantees."

The outer corners of his insultingly blue eyes crinkle up, like they're sharing some private joke. "Of course. Next Saturday I'm leaving to stay with my uncle for a couple of weeks. No matter how much he asks, I'm not trying to get Sir and King through a transatlantic flight for a visit. If I leave you instructions and a key, can you come by to feed them while I'm gone?"

What kind of question is that? Still, Andrew refuses to outwardly seem interested. He can't afford that. Not when it comes to Neil Josten. Not even when it comes to Neil Josten's cats. "What's in it for me?"

Now Neil  _ really _ looks like he's enjoying himself. "What's your idea of an equivalent exchange?"

Fuck, that's not a question Andrew can answer right now, not with Neil smiling and offering him a fucking key to his apartment. Does he even realize how that sounds? He can't have realized, because if he has, then Andrew's even more fucked than he already is. 

He does not let his voice reflect his inner turmoil. "You'll owe me one. I'll tell you what I've decided when you get back."

Neil considers it for a moment. His nose scrunches up the tiniest bit. Andrew does not find it cute. "Fine," he says eventually. "But if I think it's unreasonable, I get to argue with you about it."

That sounds... surprisingly not unappealing, even if Andrew will never admit it. "Deal."

Neil smiles then, an actual smile with teeth, and his teeth are practically gleaming white, because of course they are. And the smile's slightly crooked. It's not cute at all. He should consider seeing an orthodontist. "Deal. I'll bring you a key and instructions later today. And I'll make sure there's enough cat food for the full two weeks. Thanks."

"Thank me when you get back and they're still alive," Andrew says.

Neil's smile is starting to make him feel things and it's a problem. "I plan to."

And with that, he turns and goes back into his own apartment. The door of #313 swings closed and clicks shut behind him, and Andrew stands in the doorway for almost a full minute before remembering that he needs to close his own door as well.

A few hours later, Andrew is heading for the kitchen to see if they've got any Indian food left in the fridge when he spots the envelope that's clearly been pushed under the front door. It's got his name on it in chickenscratch handwriting, and he immediately detours to pick it up.

There are two things in the envelope, a housekey and a piece of paper, folded three times. Andrew leaves the envelope on the counter and runs his thumb over the key as he reads the paper, which is handwritten, just like the envelope, but with a clear attempt at being legible.

_ Andrew—  _

_ I know you told me not to thank you until I get back and Sir and King are alive, but thanks again. I do  _ _ not _ _ want to try and wrestle them into their cat carriers twice in two weeks. I wrote down the instructions for what/when to feed them. And my phone number is at the bottom, call/text if you need anything. _

_ Neil _

Andrew doesn't waste any time programming Neil's number into his phone, and then he silently curses himself for that bit of haste. Jean cannot get wind of this.

Jean has probably already gotten wind of this via Neil, if he's being honest with himself.

Jean might even have been the one to point Neil in Andrew's direction for a catsitter, given that Neil and Jean are much better friends than Neil and Andrew are.

Andrew's going to kill him.

But first, he's going to text Neil Josten.

Which is a lovely thought in theory, but in practice it means he stands in front of the fridge (the door is closed, he's not letting all the cool air out, he does have his life together in some respects,  _ thank you very much _ ) for about ten minutes staring at his phone screen wondering what to say.

What he eventually sends is horrifically boring, but better that than something that sounds overeager.

**me:** This is Andrew

**Neil:** good

Andrew's too confused by that one-word response to spend much time thinking about how quickly Neil replied.

At least, for now.

And when Jean gets home looking entirely too pleased with himself, holding his phone like it's a trophy, Andrew does not even let him breathe Neil's name before vanishing into his room and shutting the door.

This is Jean's fault. He fucking knew it.

(He'll have to come out to get dinner, but that's a bridge he'll cross at dinnertime.)

The first few days after Neil leaves are... odd.

Andrew lets himself into Neil's apartment, feeds Sir and King, and leaves pretty quickly, without looking around or anything else that could cause him to learn any more distracting little details about Neil Josten. They're a bit wary of him at first, but when they realize he's the one responsible for opening cans of wet food now, they warm up to him pretty quickly.

So it's the cats' fault that his entirely black outfit is now covered in cat hair. Because what was he supposed to do, not pet them? King kept meowing plaintively at him. He had to do  _ something. _

And now it's been an hour, and he still hasn't left Neil's apartment, and the couch is actually quite comfortable (even if it is the most horrific shade of green Andrew has ever seen), and he might have a bit of a problem on his hands.

And because he's a masochist, instead of getting up and leaving right that second, he continues to operate the feather toy for Sir with one hand, and with the other he pulls out his phone and starts recording.

"This is a cry for help," he says out loud as Sir tries to eat the feather. "I believe I am losing my mind. Send hot chocolate."

Then he stops the recording and, before he can think better of it, sends it off to Renee.

His phone buzzes not even two minutes later.

**Renee:** Andrew are you cheating on me with another animal shelter?

**me:** ...

**me:** I can't tell if you're being serious

**me:** They're Neil's cats

**Renee:** Oh I see :)

**me:** I hate you

**Renee:** <3

**Renee:** They seem lovely!!

**Renee:** I hope you enjoy your time with Neil

**Renee:** 's cats

**Renee:** Oops I hit enter early :)

**me:** RENEE

That's the catalyst he needs to put down the feather toy, scratch Sir under the chin for a moment, and get up from the couch. He's been here for too long. It's becoming a problem.

Sir and King both follow him to the door, and Andrew tries valiantly not to care.

He locks Neil's door behind him and crosses the hallway to his own door.

That's where the trouble starts.

Jean is reading, but he has a sixth sense for Neil-related bullshit (Andrew blames it on all that running together), and the moment he hears Andrew shut the front door, he looks up and gives Andrew a once-over before saying, "You were over there for quite some time."

Andrew stares at him in a hopefully unimpressed way.

Jean slowly, deliberately places his bookmark in his book, sets it on the coffee table, and pulls out his phone. An evil smirk spreads across his face as he unlocks it and says, "Hm, I wonder what time it is in London right now?"

"I'll tell Jeremy you binge-watched all of The Good Place in one weekend after he said he liked it," Andrew says instantly.

He can  _ see _ Jean deliberating the pros and cons, and for a moment he thinks he's won (oh, hubris), but then Jean says with a shit-eating grin, "You have cat hair all over your clothes," and  _ clearly _ opens his text messages, and that's approximately when Andrew hurls himself over the coffee table to slap the phone out of Jean's hands.

He wins, barely, and manages to find Jeremy's contact info and hit Call. 

Jeremy picks up on the second ring. "Hi, Jean! What's up?"

"This is Andrew," he says coolly. "I'm calling to inform you—"

That's as far as he gets before Jean snatches his phone back (damn longer arm reach) and says into it, "Sorry, Andrew took my phone." Jeremy says something on the other end, and whatever he says makes Jean laugh a bit and say, "Yes, it was revenge."

Two can play at that game.

Now that Jean's on the phone with Jeremy, he's not even paying attention to his surroundings, so Andrew pulls out his own phone and sends off a text. Jeremy will see it when he gets off the phone with Jean (so, like, never), and Jean will probably attempt to get him back for it, but Andrew has until Jean gets off the phone to change his clothes and dispose of the evidence by way of putting everything with cat hair on it in the laundry.

Jean continues to make Andrew's life difficult precisely when Andrew is least expecting it.

The next afternoon, he sends Andrew out to buy white wine because apparently they don't have the right kind for whatever dish Jean is planning to make for dinner. Andrew does not pretend to have opinions on the quality of different white wines. He just knows he likes the sweet shit. Apparently, that is insufficient for cooking purposes. But Jean texts him a list of potential varieties while he's in the car, so Andrew's lack of knowledge is not an issue.

What is an issue is the fact that he gets back and finds Jean, somehow already in the kitchen even though it's only three PM, on a call with someone. His laptop is right next to where Jean is chopping onions (which he does without his eyes watering, one of his more irritating skills), which means it's a video call.

Andrew assumes it's Jeremy. Maybe Renee. So he walks into the kitchen and sets the bottle of white wine on the counter, but that's when he spots red hair on the screen out of the corner of his eye.

"Say hi, Andrew," Jean says without looking away from his onions.

"Hi, Andrew," Andrew says in a monotone.

He hears Neil's laugh, tinny through the laptop speakers, and his face starts to feel hot. Jean glances up from the onions in Andrew's direction, which is precisely when Andrew makes the decision to flee— no, not flee,  _ strategically retreat from _ the kitchen.

Neil needs to come back soon  _ (nine days _ , his brain supplies), because Andrew does not want to deal with this for any longer.

Jean texts him before he even gets to his room.

**Jean:** you're going to have quite the surprise when he gets back

**Andrew:** No I won't

**Jean:** oh yes I think you will

**Andrew:** You know nothing

**Jean:** ;)

Nine days pass. Andrew determinedly doesn't count them. He spends time with Sir and King, and flips Jean off with both hands when he gets back to their apartment afterwards. And he does not text Neil Josten. Not even once. And Neil doesn't text him, either, which Andrew pretends means nothing to him.

But he's gotten used to having Neil's key on his keyring, and his routine of going over to feed the cats, and he spends the whole time that Neil is in the air over the Atlantic in some state between dread and anticipation. (Jean had checked his phone over their traditional Saturday brunch and casually said, "Neil's flight left twenty minutes ago." Andrew hadn't known, hadn't asked, hadn't even thought about it before then. Much. So, obviously, Jean ruined it intentionally.)

He bangs out a few more scenes on his manuscript to distract himself. It doesn't really work. Especially since every single one of those scenes has Pel in them.

Jean's cooking again that night, something that involves chicken and his obscenely overpriced mustard (not that Andrew's planning to complain, at least it's better than fucking Heinz), so when someone knocks on their door a bit after seven, Jean is practically elbow deep in shallots and Andrew is the one who has to haul himself off the couch and answer it.

It's Neil.

Still no downward eye flick, which Andrew cares about more than he should. He must have gotten a haircut in London, enough to neaten up his curls but not enough to hide them, and his coat is distinctively less hideous than what Andrew has seen him wearing before.

Fuck, so are his jeans, which are significantly less baggy than before. If someone over in the UK took him shopping, Andrew is going to hunt them down, either to praise them or murder them.

"Hello," Neil says. "Thought you'd like to know the cats are still alive."

And  _ what the fuck was that? _

Andrew exhales, slowly, making sure his composure is airtight, before he says, "You sure?"

"I checked," Neil says with a slight smile. "They're either alive or doing a very good imitation of it."

Fuck. That's definitely a hint of a British accent that's crept into Neil's voice. More than a hint, really. That must have been the surprise that Jean meant. Maybe all of  _ this  _ was the surprise Jean meant. Andrew is going to fly to London and commit murder. He'll even deal with being in an airplane. Fuck, he'll take a window seat if he has to, but  _ someone _ needs to die.

"So, thanks," Neil continues. "I owe you one."

Andrew nods. "I haven't decided what you owe me yet." He'd forgotten about it almost entirely, to be honest. It had been eclipsed by Sir and King and foiling Jean's attempts to humiliate him at every turn.

And there's that grin again, ever so slightly crooked. Whoever had taken him shopping and gotten his hair cut hadn't bothered with the orthodontist. Andrew can't decide how he feels about that. And then Neil says, "Fine with me. You have my number now, so let me know when you've decided. But for now, I'm going to go be jetlagged. Goodnight."

Andrew has spent a lot of time watching Neil go into his apartment and close the door behind him recently. Okay, it's happened twice, but that's a lot more than it used to happen.

He realizes, only a moment later, that he still has the key Neil gave him. It's started to feel familiar on his keyring, which is another reason it needs to go immediately, of course, but... Neil didn't ask, and he said he was jetlagged.

So Andrew will hold onto it for another night. Just so Neil doesn't have to deal with it yet.

Just like he still has the paper Neil had given him with instructions, even though he'd memorized them immediately and then formed enough of a habit that he didn't even really need to consult his memory.

Fuck, he can't even convince himself anymore.

Andrew closes the door. From the kitchen, Jean says, "Was that Neil?"

"Fuck off," Andrew tells him.

"He asked about you while he was gone," Jean says, a bit too cheerfully in Andrew's opinion.

"I said fuck off."

"And I said he asked about you. I think one of us is being more helpful than the other."

"That's intentional."

"How rude. Dinner's ready in twenty."

He does text Neil that night, because he has to just rip the Band-Aid off.

**me:** I'll bring your spare key by tomorrow

And at ass o'clock in the morning, his phone buzzes.

**Neil:** you can keep it, I have my own

Andrew has a serious problem on his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> andrew's such a disaster
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!  
> love, birl <3


End file.
